Insomnia
by True Heaven
Summary: "It was all her fault and she knew it. There was no question, no doubt. She had known. From the very beginning."


**Disclaimer:** No, I do not own any of these characters or the franchise from which it came, thank you.

Well then, now that that's over with... Boy, oh boy, I haven't been on this thing in forever. :) Anyways, here's another sad attempt of me trying to capture the "essence of the characters" ._. I have a thing for oneshots, it seems. Maybe I'll eventually have something with chapters in it. Oooh, won't that be exciting?

Anyways, sit back, relax, and enjoy. Reviews are loved :) (Constructive) criticisms are welcome!

_-Ria_

_"It was all her fault and she knew it. There was no question, no doubt. She had known. From the very beginning."_

* * *

><p>He had a feeling that she always knew what she was doing. Out went the manual and all the rules when it came to May Maple. There was no questioning, no doubt, no hesitation in her step. Nothing at all that could keep her rooted in one place. She would never allow something to keep her from what she wanted most.<p>

Even if that something was him.

He found himself unable to sleep at night, often sitting at a table, scanning his PokéDex, minding his own business. And then, after his sighing, his three rounds of pitch black coffee, his running his fingers through his black hair; only then would _she _enter his mind and wreck the havoc that resulted in his insomnia. Damn the rules, damn the barriers, and damn the thought. It all meant nothing to her, and nothing to him (but only if she was involved).

Yes, May Maple knew exactly what she was doing. He remained unconvinced of the I'll-make-it-up-as-I-go-along strategy or the well-I-really-haven't-thought-_that_-far-ahead-yet tactics she used so often during their travels when they were younger. No matter what action, regardless of circumstance, her movements were calculated, precise, perfect. It must've been the Gym Leader blood flowing through her veins.

In battle, she was deadly. Armed to the core with raw talent, drive, and that wee bit of recklessness every trainer needs, she bulldozed her way up the battle ranks with the companions she kept close on her belt. She blazed through the competition, always fast, never stopping. She knew what she wanted, and by the grace of Latios, she would get it.

He found she was the same in everyday life. Perhaps that was what drew him to her in the first place. Hence his theory of her always knowing what she was doing. Also, hence why he had lost many hours of sleep due to the fiery brunette. The young man sighed and leaned back in his chair.

Their first meeting hadn't exactly been a dream encounter. He, apparently, had odd habits and was a "stupid member of the male population", and she had a temper that rivalled a rampaging Charizard. From the very moment she had introduced herself to him, he _knew_ that he would probably end up burnt and thrown in a ditch if the two ever started travelling together. More realistically, he also knew that the tiny flutter of Beautiflies in his stomach (and all those that would come after) was mainly her fault.

And yet, no matter how many times he had angered her, made her brow knit with worry, or feared that she would finally kill him due to his (sometimes) thoughtless actions, she would still find a way to creep back into his mind.

There would be times she walked closer to him than normal; grabbing his hand to pull him in all directions; fleeting moments of tenderness towards him, one devoid of her attempts at bruising his entire right arm. There were the smiles, the hugs, the laughs, the memories, the fights, and maybe even a few tears. He would brush these all off as "friendly gestures", things she probably did on a daily basis with her other friends. These were things she didn't notice herself doing, things that she didn't _know_ she was doing. He was convinced that she was normally this warm-hearted to others.

But he was a fool. She was anything but warm. Because following the feather-light feelings in the pit of his stomach, came the full fledged offspring of a volcano and a storm. And all because of one moment. One moment she had probably planned. Or schemed.

That moment where her cherry lips had brushed against the skin of his cheek.

And then it began. He was hooked. The occasional intertwining of fingers, the weight of her head on his shoulders, stolen whispers in the night, and the feel of her voice and breath in his ear. There would be hushed conversations, privy to just them; the feel of her body against his, as they huddled together for warmth in the snow; her slender, graceful fingers tracing lines of fire on his skin and his calloused, wandering hands; the occasional kisses she would give with him hoping, nearly asking, for more.

Yes, she knew what she was doing. And she knew what she wanted.

Or so he thought.

He had asked her to stay. So many nights ago, beneath shelter from a thunderstorm, he had asked her to stay. Wasn't that what she wanted?

_No,_ she answered him. _I can't. _Her voice was calculated, precise, perfect.

And cold.

He reasoned with her, gave her every reason in the world why it was what he wanted. Why it was her that he _needed._

_No, it's not what you want. I know what you want._

Of course she knew. She _always_ knew. So even when she left him with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek and a generic farewell, he couldn't help but notice that the fire she had started in the pages of their childhood was still burning. He made do with what he had: the occasional phone or video call, the letters, the emails, the text messages, a headline of her in the paper, or a cameo on the news channel.

Eventually, he knew why.

She had done it. Of course she had. He always knew that she would turn out great. Hell, she had even surpassed her own father. She had gotten what she wanted, becoming the last and strongest member of the Elite Four, and she had done it on her own terms.

Without him.

In time, he managed to find his own way in life, becoming a renowned professor (something he'd wanted as a young child), even moving out from his father's shadow. He had grown up to be respected, independent, and confident; a welcome change from his arrogant, irresponsible, teenaged self. And yet, aside from the happiness he found doing field work or buried under stacks of paper reports, he couldn't help but feel that same fire. The image of the girl he had grown up and travelled with, the face of the young, beautiful woman she had become now: she stayed burned and etched in his mind.

So when he spotted a head of chestnut hair in a crowd to which he was speaking to (undoubtedly about his new major discovery and recent scientific thesis), his heart nearly stopped in shock. There she was, standing beside his father in all her Elite Four glory. The reason he was losing sleep at night. Shakily, and a bit nervously, he walked towards his father, greeting him, until he stepped aside, giving his son an encouraging grin.

She looked much better in person. Much, _much_, better. She flashed him a smile, blue eyes sparkling, and long brown hair, tied in a low ponytail, cascading down her back.

_I'm sorry. It's been a few weeks since I last replied to an email.  
><em>Two weeks.

_I figured seeing you in person would be better.  
><em>Oh, it is.

_How are you? Doing well? Are you happy?  
><em>I'm amazing. Doing great. More than happy.

Her laugh and, _You look well.  
><em>You look better.

And then she stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

_I've missed you_.  
>You have no idea.<p>

The young man was shaken from his late night reverie by the sound of light footsteps on the cold floor of his lab. He didn't need to look, for he already knew the one. He knew her quite well, actually. She placed a hand on his shoulder, brushing away a stray strand of hair from his lab coat before setting another piping hot mug of coffee down on his desk. He caught sight of the ring on her hand before she whispered words into his ear and pressed her lips softly against his neck.

He smiled. It was obvious she cared little for the consequences of her actions, or so it seemed, for she had thrown all the rules and manuals he had out the damn window when they had met. In her world, there was no such thing as "consequences", though to him, it would be known as insomnia.

And it was all her fault. Not that he minded. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Yes, indeed, he had a feeling May Maple always knew what she was doing. She knew what she wanted, and what he wanted as well. He was convinced she had known since the day they met.

There was no question, no doubt. She had known.

From the very beginning.

* * *

><p>Hooraaaaay... : Yeah, May has hair. _Long_ hair. 'Cause in my world, she does. It was just under that bandana :)


End file.
